


Paperwork

by crotchbats (redeyedhobo)



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Borderline dub-con, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 19:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedhobo/pseuds/crotchbats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William is sent to request Undertaker's assistance for soul collection. Since William can't pay him with a laugh, he has to use other means to get his help. This was written from a prompt given to me by lexiedarr over on A Summer of Shinigami on tumblr. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paperwork

William sighed. A larger than usual collection was slated to happen soon and he had been sent to request _his_ assistance. After adjusting his glasses and muttering to himself about how unfortunate it was that _he_ had to come here rather than literally anyone else, the brunet pushed open the door to Undertaker’s dusty old funeral parlour. Green eyes looked around the dank room as he stepped inside and he idly wondered how the old mortician saw to do his work, especially without glasses. Well, he supposed it wasn’t any of his concern. He pushed the door closed.

“Undertaker, sir?” he called. The retired death god was nowhere to be found. When he didn’t receive a response, he cleared his throat quietly and tried again, a little louder this time. He tensed when he was finally answered with an eerie laugh that seemed to come from both nowhere and everywhere at once.

 “Ohhh, it’s _you_ , William,” Undertaker tittered as he slid the lid off the coffin he’d been hiding inside.  “What brings you to my humble funeral parlour?” he asked as he stepped out, dropping his hands so that his long sleeves covered them.

Mild shock registered on William’s face before it was quickly quelled and replaced with his generally neutral expression. He bowed politely. Even retired, William still respected him and considered him his superior.

 “Ah, yes,” he said, getting to his reason for being here. “A large movement of souls is forthcoming, and as usual, we are terribly understaffed, so I have arrived to req—”

Undertaker interrupted him with a sigh as he picked up an urn and pulled the lid off. _Of course_ it was for _that_. “Eh, I hate being pulled out of retirement,” he said, suddenly setting down the pseudo-cookie jar without reaching inside. “ _However_ ,” he exclaimed, bouncing back into his creepy cheer, “if you can give me a proper laugh, I’ll _gladly_ do whatever you please.” He wriggled with unbridled excitement, and William was sure he saw drool. Well, _that_ was disgusting. Respect points lost.

The tense death god looked at the silver-haired being like he was an idiot, and made no indication of even _thinking_ about something with which to amuse him.

"Oh, right," Undertaker said with deadpan disappointment and wiped his mouth with a sleeve. "You've not the slightest clue of what a sense of humour is." He sighed again, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

William merely stood there looking uncomfortable and annoyed.

"Ah, I know . . .," he chirped creepily, his returning grin borderlining on predatory. “Just for you and your—ah— _circumstances_ , I’ll think of something else . . . since you’re so terribly boring. Besides, you can’t wave some silly library fees over my head this time.”

The brunet nearly failed to suppress a shudder from rippling through his frame when the taller being approached him and lightly ran a long nail down his cheek.

“I’d rather you didn’t touch me,” William said firmly but quietly, and took a quick step back from the other.

Undertaker smiled so wide that his face _had_ to hurt. “I guess you don’t need my help so badly after all, eh?” He moved closer to the other again, breath washing over his ear as a finger traced his jaw, his other hand groping William’s crotch.

Eyebrow twitched. William was getting pulled into something that he was completely uninterested in, and though he didn’t like it, he swallowed and said, “Very well. I was told to use whatever means to acquire your help, and so . . .,” he trailed off.

“. . . and _so_?” Undertaker prodded, both figuratively and literally.

Another irritated sigh and adjustment of glasses. “This is a business transaction,” he stated blandly. “Nothing more.” _Business, indeed. I’ve_ never _had to sink so low. This is worse than overtime_.

“That’s the spirit!” Undertaker said with glee, as if William had been enthusiastic about this ridiculous situation. “Come, then,” he added, practically dragging the poor death god out of the front room, past a curtain, then through a door into a back room that seemed to function as both a sitting room and bedroom.

“Sit,” the old reaper instructed, not giving him a choice as a hand splayed against his chest and forced him to fall back onto the sofa with a low grunt. William fixed his glasses again—because this time they’d been knocked askew—and frowned up at Undertaker, who was taking his hat off and hanging it on a hook. His discomfort further increased as the other pulled off his scarf and overcoat, and went to hang those as well. It wasn’t entirely because the other was undressing; rather it was that he was taking _so damn long_ to do it.

Finally annoyed, he pushed himself up from the sofa and strode over to Undertaker who was pushing his hair out of his eyes. William paused, staring for a moment, nearly forgetting what he was going to say. He glanced away, collecting his thoughts, then worked to unbutton the tighter-fitting coat Undertaker wore.

“ _My my_. Eager, are we?” The old creep grinned, hair falling back over one of his vibrant eyes. William inwardly noted that his smiles were less disconcerting when half of his face wasn’t hidden.

Rather than answer about his so-called _eagerness_ —which didn’t exist—William scoffed and replied bluntly: “With all due respect, _sir_ , I do still have a schedule to keep, and _this_ is cutting in as it is.” He finished undoing the buttons and pushed it open and down to the other’s elbows. It slid off and to the floor on its own.

“. . . and I’d _so_ wanted to take my time with you,” the other replied, the corners of his mouth turning down into a slight frown. “Well, then. Shall we?” He grabbed William’s tie before he could respond and brought their mouths together with near-bruising force. The brunet’s lips parted to allow a gasp, and Undertaker took that opening without a pause. At first, William didn’t know how to react. He felt surprise, disgust, and something else altogether. Yeah, best not to think about that ‘something else’; maybe something more soothing like paperwork would be better, instead. That thought calmed him to the point that he was actually able to return the kiss without too much hesitation.

A nail scraped lightly at William’s neck as Undertaker’s finger slipped behind the knot of his tie and loosened it as the taller being blindly guided the both of them across the room. The tie was pulled away and dropped carelessly to the floor as the backs of William’s legs hit something. Surprised, he grabbed the front of the other’s shirt as he fell back, hitting what he assumed was the mattress, as he was laying flat (aside from his legs dangling over the side). The kiss was broken with a low smack as Undertaker broke his own fall with elbows landing on either side of William to keep from bashing their faces together. Traces of silver tickled his cheeks, which made William feel how close they currently were ever the more.

Undertaker chuckled quietly, and the other was genuinely surprised by how eerie it _didn’t_ sound. He found himself hesitating again, and slowly released the shirt his fingers were still curled in. In the back of his mind, William registered a clock chiming somewhere, denoting how truly late it was. He was now behind, and that irritated him. Frowning, he shifted, hands going onto either of Undertaker’s shoulders and rolling the both of them over so that William was straddling the ex-reaper. He stared at him for a moment with the blankest of expressions before sliding to the floor, his weight balanced on his knees and the toes of his shoes.

“You just need to ‘come’, correct?” he asked dryly. “I find . . .,” he paused, reaching up with no hesitation at this point, because he really needed to leave quickly. “. . . that this will be much more efficient and definitely less messy.”

 “Oh?” The older being was sitting up as William was popping his trouser’s buttons from holes. He had been about to say something else when the other undid the last of the buttons, but changed his mind and kept his mouth shut for once. It’d be terribly unfortunate if the tightass left now.

William yanked off his gloves. He didn’t necessarily want to touch the other with bare hands, but this wasn’t any worse than what he knew _was_ going to happen. Setting them aside, he then reached into Undertaker’s trousers and released his very obvious arousal. Suppressing the pink that threatened to taint his cheeks—and refusing to look up at the other’s face—William lightly ran fingertips over the heated flesh before gripping it tightly and running his hand along it and back a few times, mainly to test the waters and gauge Undertaker’s reaction. The low noise of approval he received was good enough, and he sighed quietly as if this were nothing more than mundane paperwork, then leaned forward, tongue darting out as if to sample the taste.

Undertaker found himself biting his lip as that tongue ceased its seemingly timid licks and suddenly swirled around the head of his erection. His long black nails dug into the sheets, expressing his longing to shove the other to the floor and take him _right there_. He didn’t, however. No, he remained where he was, unmoving; even when William all but engulfed him with pleasant heat, hand taking up the slack of where his mouth and tongue couldn’t reach. A low moan did escape him, though, and it hardly sounded like something that actually came from him. Teeth pressed harder into lip to prevent that from happening again. It was difficult, however, with the way that tongue traced along the underside of his arousal with unlikely skill. Had he been able to think properly, Undertaker surely would have wondered about it.

₪₪₪

Neither was entirely sure how much time had passed, but William’s jaw was beginning to hurt. Luckily for him, Undertaker was getting that tightening coil in his gut. Body tensed and quivered, and the brunet had to make a quick decision: Swallow the mess, or let it possibly get all over him? Neither option was appealing, but he hadn’t the time to go home and change. He wasn’t going to risk it. At that moment, Undertaker’s hand—nails and all—clamped down on his shoulder, and William was inwardly thankful for the protection of his blazer, though the pressure was still unpleasant. Despite that, hand and mouth worked harder to bring the other to release, and moments later he succeeded. The mortician gasped and grit his teeth as he came. William’s eyes watered slightly at the bitter taste that hit the back of his tongue, but he managed to keep at it and until Undertaker was happily spent.

 “Pure bliss,” the silver haired being sighed as he fell back onto the mattress.

William released him from both his hand and mouth and stood as he swallowed and licked his lips to make sure nothing had dribbled out. As he picked up his gloves, Undertaker lazily adjusted himself so that he didn’t look so vulgar. Undertaker sighed again as if completely awed.

After putting his gloves back on, William strode over and picked up his discarded tie, turning to look back at the other as he deftly put it back on and knotted it with perfection. “Consider that a forward on your payment,” he said, as if this were completely normal. “You may come to me later to collect the rest.”

Undertaker said nothing as he pushed himself back into a sitting position.

Bowing and fixing his glasses as he straightened, William added, “Well, then. Goodnight, sir.” And with that, he left.

The old mortician managed to hold in his laughter for as long as it took to hear the front door of the parlour close. Shaking, and unable to hold it in any longer, he burst out into a peal of idiotic insanity.

His original payment was received after all. He’d still collect what was promised, though—at some point—because that sounded much better than any laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> I think is literally the most awkward thing I've ever written. My deepest apologies to the prompt-giver.


End file.
